The Tragedy

As the dully glowing sun trekked its way up into the sky, the withering darkness receded into mere shadow. Bright as it was, the night offered more comfort from the sordid reminders of a present tragedy.

Chilled to the bone, she sat there huddled in the corner, in an attempt to hide from the rising sun that scorched her soul.

Dust flew around the ransacked house, a glaring sign of the lack of life in the aging space. Every crevice was occupied with some item or another that was completely unnecessary; a byproduct of various owners moving in and out of the house, a shuffle of trinkets kept solely for the purpose of preserving memories. For years the house was a place of warmth and growth, where children were born, lived, and eventually left.

Gradients of light streaming through the window normally would have seemed to illuminate the eerie estate, but on this fateful day it became torturous. Heavy sorrow warps even the most beautiful of sceneries, blacking out the joy from feeling the sun on your skin or the breeze whistle on by.

Irrepressible sobs escaped from the woman against her efforts, brokenly echoing through the otherwise silent space. Just barely hanging from her hand was a yellowed piece of paper and turned face-down on the floor was a photograph. Kindly, in the photo, the boy smiled, clinging to his mother as if he would never let go.

Looking at his young face broke the minuscule amount of resolve she had left.

Most of the house's amenities were long gone, but the medicine cabinet had never been cleaned out. None of the pill bottles were still filled with prescriptions- it was the first thing she'd checked.

Open windows allowed beams of light to polish the dark hardwood floor that was finished with a fine layer of dust. Perpetual chirping came from the birds who seemed to notice nothing out of the ordinary.

Quietly, a curious robin lightly pecked at the ants loitering the windowsill, but it might as well have been a round of bullets firing into her head.

Rain and thunder would undoubtedly suit the day more properly than the current glory of a season blossoming into spring.

Silently she remained there, no longer weeping. There were no cries from a woman completely turned numb with grief. Undiluted emotion was overtaking her so aggressively she could no longer distinguish one feeling from the next. Vulnerable as she was feeling, she knew she wouldn't be able to handle it with dignity much longer, and all she could do was one whisper out a soft plea. Wishing.

Xeric was her face, and raspy was her voice as she cried out her one hope, "Bring him back to me, please, give me back my son!" desperately, praying for some miracle to occur and restore what the world had so cruelly taken from her. Youth and hope receded into memory. Zapped away was all hope from the weary woman, who enveloped herself into the darkness.